


Love Me Not

by MONANIK



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Switch AU, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Getting to Know Each Other, Headcanon that Tsukkishima is actually really kinky, Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio Friendship, Kageyama Tobio Needs a Hug, Kageyama Tobio is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Minor Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Hinata Shoyou/ Kageyama Tobio, Protective Tsukishima Kei, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, There's a lot of expectations on my boys, This is all very painful, Tsukishima Kei Being an Asshole, Tsukishima Kei is Bad at Feelings, With A Minor Twist, you can pry sub tsukishima out of my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22131835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MONANIK/pseuds/MONANIK
Summary: Yamaguchi argued that he was developing a crush, Kei insisted it was nothing but curiosity. What makes him tick the way he does and all that. But privately, in his own room, when no one was around to see, he knew it extended far beyond curiosity. And, perhaps, if that punch hadn’t been as loaded with hatred as it’d been, he’d have used the memory of it.The mutual hatred Tsukishima and Kageyama shared for each other hadn't gotten much better in their third year, and the day it all tipped over the edge he was awarded more than a well-aimed right hook from Kageyama.When Kei wakes up in Tobio's room, disoriented and confused and unfairly enarmoured by his nemesis, he quickl realizes all things are not well in the privacy of the king's castle.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 73
Kudos: 206





	1. Barren Lands

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write a Body Switch au for so long.  
> Some notes to keep in mind before and while you read:
> 
> \- A lot of this is based on personal experience. Everyone's experiences are different.  
> \- In this AU, they don't atuomtically get all the traits the other has, and likewise they don't automatically keep their own. For instance, Kei isn't as smart as he normally is. This is based on the fact that certain things are out of our control. I just wanted to play with that.  
> \- There will be sexual content in this fic, primarily implied or minor masturbation scenes. These are teenage boys in the prime days of their youth.  
> \- I don't consider this a smut fic, the focus here is on TsukiKage and their developement, and their private lives.  
> \- They're all third years.  
> \- Be mindful of the tags and the ratings, since I might add or change things there as the story progresses. 
> 
> Enjoy! (づ◡﹏◡)づ

The view of Miyagi from Kageyama’s bedroom was a spectacular sight. Hundreds of dim-lit houses scattered over the bumps and lumps that were the hills and cliffs in their neighborhood. The glimpsing sun in the offset horizon had barely broken through, so early was it.

Now, you may be wondering; why was Tsukishima standing in Kageyama’s bedroom?

Because—by the means of an omnipresent power which Tsukishima couldn’t begin to comprehend—the two of them had switched bodies.

══════════════════

_“Jump higher!” He growled._

_His every breath came out heavy and labored; in tandem with the aggressive rise and fall of his chest. Kei knew it was from utter exhaustion. They’d been at it for a while._

_“Oh, I’m sorry—your highness,” he scoffed and wiped sweat off his brows, “—but if my peasanty ways displease you I kindly advise you to fuck off,” he shot back._

_They were glaring daggers at each other. Neither was willing to back down. One of them should have had. Kei should have had._

_“I know you can do it!” Kageyama’s voice rang through the hall._

_He was certain every sentient being on every nearby galaxy had heard him. Hell, he’ll probably be the first thing the inhabitants of Andromeda hear right before crashing into the Milky Way._

_He couldn’t stand his pretentiousness, his_ pretending-to-know-Kei-ness. _“You don’t know shit about me, so stop acting like you do. I’m tired. Give it a rest.”_

_“You’re making excuses!”_

_“Shut up!”_

_The silence around them doused the room in something thick and suffocating. He found his own chest rising to the beat of his staggering heart; erratic and wild in his chest. He’d taken a step closer, which he probably shouldn’t have had, and the fire in Kageyama’s eyes lit anew. He didn’t think eyes could express so much violence, or that they expressed anything at all the second before a fist connects with your face, and practically loosens every tooth in your mouth with the sheer force of it._

_He would learn, later, the dimensions of that fire, and the things people did before they struck. The things they said to their victim. But in that moment, as a deafening crack resounded through the hall, and his vision blurred for a harrowing moment, nothing in the world could ever make him feel sympathetic for the brute in front of him._

_But Kageyama didn’t stop there._

_A left hook collided with his sternum, and every ounce of air left his lungs in an instant. Like a vacuum they sucked themselves inward, and Kei’s vision blackened, and the next thing he knew were the soft browns of Sugawara’s eyes as he held him by his shoulders._

_He was talking to him, but Kei couldn’t hear a word he said. He still couldn’t breathe, and every second—every bit of his energy—went into not collapsing from asphyxiation._

_Above Sugawara’s shoulder loomed Kageyama in all his glory. Kei was taller, even in their third year, but nothing could beat the velocity of Kageyama’s swing. Be it a spike, or a serve, or a right hook. There was no stopping that. Not unless you’re terrifyingly used to it. How Hinata had survived their squabble in their freshman year he didn’t understand. Perhaps it was the centimeter’s he lacked that saved his nose. It meant hitting would include bending down or aiming low._

_Not that that was a problem, judging by the blooming bruise in the middle of Kei’s chest._

_Perhaps the asphyxiation had gotten to him, he thought, as he fell asleep that night still breathing irregularly. Still clutching his sore chest._

_Little did he know that the next time he woke up the bruise would have multiplied and scattered and blossomed on every hidden limb on his body. That the chest he was so familiar with would morph into something firmer._

_That the ache wouldn’t stop._

══════════════════

╔═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╗

_And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky one.  
'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.  
Setting fire to our insides for fun._

_It was a flood that wrecked our home._

╚═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╝

══════════════════

The first thing he dumbly noted was the change in his vision. His eyes focused without struggle. His eyes were, in fact, so sharp that he could make out the text on the calendar by the door.

His second thought was that the calendar wasn’t his, and the door it hung by was unfamiliar.

He rose with a start and found to his utmost surprise that he wasn’t in his room. There were weights on the floor, a pile of sport magazines gleaming by the bed, and a barren nightstand opposite of it. There were no pictures or ornaments on the wall, and the carpet in the middle was a simple blue. Everything about it was as far as you could get from Kei’s cluttered, lived-in little space. This room was bigger, cleaner, and—most of all—stripped of all life. There were no familiar dinosaur figurines placed above his desk, no notebooks piled on top of each other by his laptop, and no clothes hanging off the chair by his wardrobe. Barren.

It was then that his brain caught up with his situation. More specifically, his significantly shorter limbs beneath the light covers.

He chanced a glance at his hands; brought them to his face and turned them this way and that. The bitten cuticles were nurtured to perfection, his fingers long and slim, and the nails trimmed flawlessly. His gaze traveled down the bones of a firm wrist and traced the protruding veins of an arm much tanner and wider than his. His eyes dropped to stare at his crotch for a moment, before his hands hastily lifted the hem of his shirt. Those were not his abs, and that was certainly not his mole, and he definitely didn’t have these many bruises.

Fuck.

With no remorse for scattering the hundreds of magazines all over the floor he practically flew out of bed and tripped his way to the full-length mirror by the wardrobe.

In it he met the face of none other than Kageyama fucking Tobio.

Standing there, a few inches shorter than normal, was Kei inhabiting the body of a certain king. A certain teammate whose animosity had nearly costed him his nose.

Speaking of his nose.

With sweat beading his forehead, and the rush of something cold in his veins, he practically flew himself over the phone by the nightstand. It read 5:23 am, and there was an unanswered text from Tsukishima.

From himself.

══════════════════

══════════════════

A minute later he received another message. This one more hesitant, timid.

_“Don’t make unnecessary noise.”_

Well, that one he’d surely already failed at. He glanced guiltily at the stack of magazines now decorating the floor in a million pictures of athletes jumping and posing with volleyballs.

Whatever. Not like it mattered.

What mattered was getting back inside his own body. It was harrowing enough to have to see Kageyama every day. Last thing he wanted was to _live_ in his body. To constantly be a part of him.

The mere idea disgusted him.

He walked back to the mirror by the wardrobe and frowned at himself as he opened the wooden slide-door to find something to wear. Even his frown looked like Kageyama’s signature expression. There was not an ounce of Kei anywhere in this vessel. Aside from his thoughts and memories, everything was Kageyama. His hands, his legs, his hips, his shoulders, his face…

Even his…

He brushed that thought away and ignored the flush that surely rose to his cheeks. Turns out dressing with your eyes closed is a lot harder than you’d think, so he opened them to the view of a half-naked Kageyama staring back at him, no doubt furiously blushing. An expression he’d never seen on the king.

Getting undressed like this in someone else’s body felt like a dire violation of Kageyama’s privacy. As much as he hated the guy, even he deserved better than to have Kei ogle him in his most private and vulnerable state. It wasn’t that he’d never seen Kageyama without clothes on. He’d seen him entirely naked, too. There’s only so much you can hide when you’re participating in an all-boys volleyball club that regularly participates in far-away matches and tournaments.

But like this, in his own room, with the blinds down, it felt far too intimate. Like he was peeping through his window rather than inhabiting his body.

It didn’t help that Kei had a… growing fascination with Kageyama. Yamaguchi argued that he was developing a crush, Kei insisted it was nothing but curiosity. What makes him tick the way he does and all that. But privately, in his own room, when no one was around to see, he knew it extended far beyond curiosity. And, perhaps, if that punch hadn’t been as loaded with hatred as it’d been, he’d have used the memory of it.

Alright, perhaps he’d use the memory of it regardless, only with a lot more pain intwined into it.

He doesn’t remember when it happened, but at some point, during their first year his hatred translated itself into something incredibly lustful. Perhaps it started the day he noticed that Kageyama had grown, in more ways than one. That he wasn’t the same, snotty, teenage boy he’d been when they first met.

He’d noticed the line of his shoulders, the trimmed dip of his hips, the curve to his back, the flex of muscles in his legs. But what got him—what _really_ got him—was when he first noticed the happy trail dipping below the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Man, had he spent nights revisiting _that._

So, yes. It felt like a violation of his privacy. Every touch of his fingers over rigid muscle sent his head reeling. This wasn’t good for his heart, but he was sure Kageyama with his insane athleticism could handle it.

He hoped so, otherwise he’d be dead before the end of the week.

The black Karasuno uniform fit him as snugly as a glove, and Kei cursed him for the way it stretched over his shoulders. Hadn’t he gotten a bigger one? The idiot probably didn’t even notice that he was walking around like everyone’s wet dream.

He’d seen the looks he gets, from the girls in other classes. He’d heard the whispers. He and everyone else knew that Kageyama was, for some unfathomable reason, _popular._ Everyone except Kageyama, as expected, who was entirely blind to their affections.

The school’s biggest airhead, right after Hinata, was considered astonishingly popular by a very vast majority.

He couldn’t exactly blame them. Hell, even Kei had fallen for his stupid, stupid face and his stupid, fuckable body. Kageyama was tall, and lean, and he had those idiotic blue eyes. He didn’t speak much, and mostly communicated in grunts and mumbling, which only served to add to the mystery about him.

Except the difference between Kei and everyone else was that Kei knew Tobio. He knew how sloppy of an eater he was, and he knew he had no off button. He knew he was loud and obnoxious, rash and rude, and most of all unhealthily obsessed with volleyball. He knew what he smelled like after practice, what size shoes he wears, the scent and brand of his shampoo, and the meticulous way he tends to his hands body. The way he’s more careful about his condition than anyone else.

All those things, and a million more; like the stickers he’d seen him stick to his volleyball diary anytime he got one with his milk—only served to heighten Kei’s _interest_ in him.

Yes. Interest.

A loud bang on his door startled him out of his thoughts.

“The hell you makin’ so much noise for?!” A man’s voice rumbled so loud it shook the hinges.

He spoke with a slur, which could only mean one thing as the bang sounded once more, and the handle jerked harshly downwards.

The door was… locked? From the inside?

“Hey! Open the fuckin’ door! Tobio!”

The chime of his phone alerted him of a new text message. He rushed to it in panic and saw on the bright screen a new text message from himself.

══════════════════

══════════════════

He didn’t have much time to grumble over Kageyama’s situation. Instead, he threw himself at the wardrobe, and rummaged through it until he found the jacket and the shoes.

Not minding the state he left the room in, he put on the jacket, and the shoes, and grabbed the bag by Kageyama’s desk on his way to the window. The bangs behind him were getting louder and louder, and mimicked the heavy beating of his heart.

“ _Tobio!”_ Roared the voice from the other side, more furious than seconds ago.

He opened the old window and pushed it up enough to fit through. The drop wasn’t all that extreme, a few feet at most, but to Kei it was as mortifying as flinging himself out of a moving plane.

The ground only sunk further and further away from him, and his hands where they gripped the windowsill were clammy and cold. Every ounce of his blood had rushed to the center of his body where it threatened to overboil.

A crack of the door breaking from inside snapped him back into himself, and he took a deep breath as he aimed for the bushes below. He prayed to every God there was that he wouldn’t break something as the ground inched closer and closer.

What a way to start the day, the thought.


	2. Intimate Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama is a lot less considerate in many aspects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some minor sexual content down below.   
> Who actually thought Kageyama has decency? Not me!

The weight in the pit of his chest was gone. That was the first thing Tobio noticed.

Then, he noticed the room. Or rather, that he couldn’t see the room. His body, gangly and longer than normal, was a hassle to control, and the insistent pounding in his head didn’t bode well.

Tentatively, a hand traced the sown pattern of his shirt. _Since when did he sleep in a long-sleeved?_ Gentle, soft fingers tapped the expanse of exposed skin just above the waistband of his pajama pants. _Soft_. His other hand grabbed the top of his right thigh. _Firmer, but soft. Softer than what he was used to._ Snoopy fingers rose to run the pattern of unblemished skin, where his jaw met his neck. _No mole._ Lastly, to be absolutely certain, a palm pressed firmly the outline of his dick through his pajamas.

Definitely not Tobio’s.

_Shit! Shit! Shit!_

His arm flew out to the side, aiming for a night-table which he could only barely make out the outlines of. Blurred as it was. On it he grabbed for the familiar shape of a pair of glasses, and when they were set in place on his nose and his world sharpened, his lungs practically collapsed.

The room he’d considered unfamiliar in its blurriness was definitely not the barren wasteland he was used to. There were things _everywhere._ Clothes, CDs, books and notebooks, pens, empty water bottles. Above the cluttered desk twenty neatly ordered dinosaur figurines stared right back at him, and he didn’t need more to realize whose room he’d woken in.

The phone by the bed chimed with a new notification, and he immediately picket it up to message himself. Surely, if he was _Tsukishima,_ then Tsukishima must be him. Right? He hoped so.

Tsukishima’s answering _“What the fuck is happening?”_ was proof enough of that.

He groaned, and the voice that flowed out of his body was so much higher in pitch, softer, than the one he was used to. He told Tsukishima to— _no matter what—_ not make any unnecessary noise.

Okay, perhaps less enthusiastically, but he was sure he got the memo. Tsukishima was a smart guy—as much as Tobio hated to admit it—and he had faith in his analytical abilities.

_Analytical? Where did that come from?_

He couldn’t be sure Tsukishima would even survive the morning if he made noise, or interrupted dad’s sleep. Fuck.

The dread that had debilitated came back tenfold. It broke through the formation of his ribs and tore its way into his battered lungs where it nestled itself deep. Not only did he have his own ass to save now, but Tsukishima’s too. Tsukishima, who had no idea. Tsukishima, who was about to learn some of Tobio’s most intimate secrets.

_Fuck!_

He’d rather it was Hinata there, in his body, rummaging through his room. Except he knew Hinata would be making even more of a ruckus, as empty as his head was. He’d surely panic and yell, or shout. Or a combination of both.

The years hadn’t done him and Tsukishima any justice. Everyone kept telling him they’d find their rhythm, that they’d learn to work as a team and grow out of their animosity, but it only seemed to worsen with the years. Tsukishima was more bitter and closed off than ever, and their constant fights had been bound to escalate out of control.

He just intensely wished he hadn’t been the first to lose it. Not like that. Not in front of the entire club. And now, inhabiting Tsukishima’s body—whose nose he nearly broke, judging by the throbbing in his head—he couldn’t even apologize to the team. To the freshmen looking up to him. To Sugawara, who’d volunteered to stand in as coach in Ukai’s absence, and who’d had to witness the downgrade of his kohai. The absolute failure that he’d become.

And, most of all, he couldn’t apologize to Tsukishima. He’d try, but with their situation looming overhead he was doubtful his words would get to him, or sound genuine.

He’d spent hours last night, grumbling over his idiocy. Worst of all, he’d acted like his father. Without sense or remorse. Not even one, but two fists had collided with his teammate. Unjustified and rash, that’s what his actions were.

He sighed and heaved himself out of bed. The ache in his head wouldn’t give, and his chest still rose shakily whenever he took a breath. _Dammit._

By the lamp on his bedside table was a package of painkillers. Neatly placed to await Tsukishima’s undoubted discomfort come morning. He was almost thankful to the jerk until he realized he’d placed them there for himself, not for Tobio.

Well, he supposed it was, in the end, himself who got any used of them. Or something.

This entire thing was getting more confusing by the minute.

══════════════════

He dressed in a daze after that. They’d agreed to meet at school in 30, which meant they’d be earlier than even Hinata, which was good. He would surely ask questions later as to why they were so early, and why—of all— _Tsukishima_ was, too.

He’d deal with it once he met… himself.

Now, staring at a naked Tsukishima in the mirror, he could do nothing but go about the morning as per usual. Minus the detail of inhabiting another man’s body, which would surely pose problems. Like, for one, Tsukishima’s no doubt boisterous older brother, whom Tobio had had the pleasure to meet. And—as he was certain Tsukishima had those—his parents.

His journey to the bathroom had, so far, gone unnoticed. Perhaps his family weren’t early risers. _Good._

As he stood there, underneath the streaming shower, he let a hand trace the soft skin of Tsukishima’s toned body. He wasn’t as bulky as Tobio; more lean, soft, swift. But he was taller, his arms longer, and the dip of his hips deeper. He even had those stupid ass-dimples. The ones only porn-stars have. The ones that make them look like they’re squeezing their ass real hard.

Well, he was certain Tsukishima had something _up_ his, just not that he spent much time squeezing.

_Speaking of his ass._

His right hand grabbed firmly at one of the cheeks. It felt firm but bouncy in his hand. Small and perfect. He’d spent his fare share of hours staring at Tsukishima’s ass, sure, and an even fairer share of hours fantasizing about the things he’d do do it, but he’d never had the chance to actually touch it.

All of Tsukishima felt entirely foreign to him. He was an enigma; and untouchable, unknowable being. Something even his wildest fantasies couldn’t conjure to perfection because he didn’t know him intimately enough. Well, he certainly knew him intimately now. Or, at the very least, his body.

The back of his mind nagged him about Tsukishima, and how he was probably getting murdered by his father right now, but the front of his brain was begging his hands to do something entirely different from texting him of the dangers in Tobio’s house.

Perhaps he shouldn’t be touching his teammate this intimately without his permission, but he wasn’t really _him_ right now, and Tsukishima’s body definitely needed some relief.

He sighed at the ceiling; palm pressed firmly against the rigidness of Tsukishima’s dick. _How sensitive. Where else?_

The motion was slow, a drag up to the sensitive tip, then all the way down to the base of his shaft. Repeat.

His other hand let go of the tiled wall, and his head thudded against it in replacement as his entire mind said _fuck it_. Eager fingers parted his but cheeks, and a single finger traced the rigid entrance of his hole. His entire body twitched at that, and a single line of hot precum dribbled over Tsukishima’s hand and dripped down into the drain.

 _Really_ sensitive, he noted. But he wouldn’t go there. Who knew if Tsukishima was a virgin? But his dick, now, that was a different matter. Every average guy with a healthy body jerked off. Especially at their age. He knew Tsukishima was no saint.

Hell, he’d heard him, during training camp in their second year. Jerking it in a public restroom in the middle of the night might seem like a good idea at first glance; no people awake, no one to interrupt, the entire bathroom to yourself—except that wasn’t the case. Someone was awake, and that someone was Tobio, who sometimes had trouble sleeping.

And he’d heard everything. From start to finish. The sighs and gasps, the slick noises of his hand, even the garbled, barely intelligible gasps of his name.

Not like he hadn’t notice him staring, but Tobio had always thought it was out of pure animosity. Nothing more, nothing less. His late-night bathroom visit had proved that theory wrong. He knew there were no feelings there; Tsukishima was simply interested in the physical Tobio, not the real one. He couldn’t exactly judge him for that, because he joined him in his little jerk-off session. Unknowingly to him, surely, but he had, nonetheless.

Tsukishima was an attractive guy. Tall, blond, soft around the edges—down to the curls of his hair—and smart, no doubt. He was an academic; set for greatness and success. Was sure to be loaded with money in a few years, and probably earn a hefty wage before thirty. Every mother’s dream in-law.

And everything Tobio wished to absolutely wreck.

Since the accident in the bathroom he couldn’t tear his gaze off him. Of course, he liked to think he was a lot more subtle at it than Tsukishima was. As smart as the guy was, he had no idea how well Tobio could read him. No one did. He wasn’t very academic, and fairly uninterested in all things not volleyball, but if there was one thing he’d learnt in life it was to read people.

And, boy, did he have much to read in Tsukishima’s tracking, lustful gaze. In the way his snarky smiles and snide comments held just a little bit more than ill will. How that upturn was a little more genuine, a little more… hopeful. How Tobio’s shoves and roughness were things always dearly appreciated, in quiet (it seemed).

And, man, did he want to give it all to him. Anything he wanted. Anything he asked. But, of course, he couldn’t. Not ever.

Because, despite the tension between them, they were forever doomed to hate each other’s guts. Hatefucking wasn’t really Tobio’s thing, among screwing his teammate and the guy whose throat he’s wished to cut up more than a few times over the years they’ve known each other.

And, lastly, he would never in a million years willingly submit in any shape or form to that snarky bastard.

If anyone should be crawling on their knees it was the very—secretly cute—Tsukishima.

══════════════════

╔═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╗

_So, let me thank you for your time  
And try not to waste any more of mine_

_And who cares if you disagree?_  
You are not me.  
Who made you king of anything?

╚═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╝

══════════════════

When he was finished, in more ways than one, he dried and dressed and tip-toed his way down the stairs and through the hallway. No one had woken yet, so he still had a chance to go unnoticed.

He followed the path from his house until he reached the fork in the road where the four seniors always parted. Finding the Sakanoshita shop had been pure luck on his part. Tobio wasn’t particularly good at orientation. Among other things.

By the time the gates of Karasuno High loomed overhead the clock read 35 minutes since their agreed-on meetup time. He knew Tsukishima wasn’t keen on coming to school as early as Tobio and Hinata, but he liked to think that the situation right now posed a different type of urgency.

Well, fuck.

He opened their messages and sent the idiot a short and concise explanation on where he could find all things needed to jump out the window; as Tobio had done many mornings.

It wasn’t a common occurrence, and it usually meant he’d have the worst day in the history of days, but every once in a blue moon his father would be extra snappy in the morning. Any noise, no matter how minor, was enough to set him off. It usually included one or two broken things, including the door to his bedroom, and it wasn’t by any means _nice_ to run to school without having even so much as brushed your teeth, much less showered or eaten.

Those were usually the mornings when he always won over Hinata. He supposed he’d won today, too. Even if Tsukishima was late.

The sound of heavy footsteps bounced between the houses down the road, and Tobio looked up to see himself dashing towards him at full force. He looked moderately out of breath when he approached, which probably had something to do with—

“Your dad is fucking crazy! What the _fuck_ Kageyama?!”

It wasn’t everyday that he heard himself yell at himself, and even less frequently did Tsukishima use his name instead of _king,_ or _your highness._

“Thanks. Had no clue,” he deadpanned.

Tsukishima seemed just as shocked to be staring at himself, no doubt making expressions he’d never seen on himself.

His eyes fell to the open uniform. “Button your uniform properly, unlike you I’m not a savage,” he hissed and moved to do it for him before Tobio could object. Knuckles brushed against his collarbone through the white dress-shirt.

It was strange to see himself act so… Tsukishima.

“Well, this is weird. How do we fix it?” he asked.

“Why are you asking me? Do I look like God to you?” his teammate shot back.

He frowned and sighed, irritation building with every sentence that came out of his mouth. “You’re the smart one here! You constantly make sure to shove it in my face so _do something!”_ he shouted.

Tobio watched him flinch and blink up at him in confusion. _Dammit._ Had he scared him that much?

He was painfully reminded of what he’d sworn to do, then, but didn’t manage to say much before Tsukishima had spoken.

“Listen, your highness,” _there it is,_ “I haven’t got the slightest clue as to how we got ourselves in this position, so don’t you dare go put this on me.”

“I wasn’t putting this on you, I just asked what we should do!”

“What makes you think I’d have a single fucking clue?!” he fired, “I’m no more enlightened than you are!”

Tobio watched him heave in frustration, and the taut string that was his posture stiffen further. He was stressed. Incredibly so. No wonder, really. While Tobio had spent the morning getting off and calmly walking to school like every normal teenager, Tsukishima had no doubt spent his in terror and cold sweats.

“Sorry,” he heard himself mumble in the silence, “Sorry for hitting you the other day, and that you now how to deal with my family first thing in the morning.”

Something in his eyes gave, and the taut string of his posture slackened a fraction. He sighed.

“Gross. Don’t apologize to me, it’s creepy,” he said, but his words lacked their usual venom.

“We need to fix this somehow,” he muttered, then turned to walk through the gate. “Hey king, are you coming?” he asked, not looking at Tobio.

He sighed and followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [cracks knuckles]
> 
> OK, so,  
> I intend for them to switch on a regular, but I won't say what causes it or how they'll fix it, but I'm here to prepare you on that they won't stay as each other long. Neither will they stay as themselves long, but you'll figure out why and what triggers the switch. If anyone else figures it out, please do say so. I'm curious to see how well hidden it is ;)  
> I've already hinted at it very vaguely. 
> 
> [evil laughter]
> 
> Anyways. Again, these are hormonal teenage boys. Please don't expect them t be rational, or always have high morals they keep to. Mistakes will be made. Awkwardness will ensue. This won't be a smooth sailing. 
> 
> Cheers!


	3. Tick, Tick, Tick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for panic attack.

”We need to establish clear boundaries.”

Kageyama—or, well, Kageyama in his body—glared at him from the other side of the bench.

They were sitting in the clubroom, back to lockers, with their knees propped up—staring down the other. No doubt weirded out by the experience.

“Boundaries?” Kageyama echoed, “What boundaries are you talking about? You just learned my father is abusive and probably saw my dick.”

Tsukishima tried hard no to stutter over his next words.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re both teenagers. There are less… civil… bodily reactions taking place…”

“You want me to give you blue balls?”

He sighed at Kageyama’s non-existent filter. Did this brute seriously always say whatever first came to mind? Had he no sense of delicacy?

“You’re insufferable.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and let the sound of the ventilation system speak for him instead. It buzzed on overhead, not caring of the turmoil happening in the tiny changing room.

They sat like that, in complete silence, and thought about things. He was certain Kageyama, too, was mourning the loss of his body. Pinched brows and clenched fists that unclenched in a steady rhythm were indication enough.

Then, he spoke.

“You can do whatever you want.”

“Sorry?”

“I said,” he heaved a sigh so intense Kei feared for his battered lungs’ health, “you can do whatever you want.

“With what?”

“My body, dumbass,” he growled. “You just said we need to set boundaries and mine are _do whatever._ Just don’t get me disabled or killed, will you?” Kei watched on in utter bafflement as Kageyama brushed a hand though his hair.

The action was so familiar, so Kageyama, that even when done in Kei’s body it instilled a sense of… comfort… in Kei.

“And… don’t make my dad angry on purpose. Don’t try to rebel against him or something.”

In a second, the events of that morning came crashing back to him. The yelling, the aggressive pounding on the door, the void room. The bruises.

“About that…” he started, but Kageyama scoffed in annoyance and rose to leave.

He scurried to get up. “Wait! Wait!” he said and blocked the door. “We aren’t done here.”

“Aren’t we? What else is there to be said?”

He sounded so incredibly drained even Kei felt sympathetic. Almost.

“Well, for starters, I don’t want you going around injuring me—since I know you’re good at being a reckless moron.”

“You and I both know that’s bullshit. If there’s anyone who cares about their condition in Karasuno it’s me.”

Kei ignored him and headed on.

“I don’t want you skipping any classes, or homework. I don’t care if we’re switched, you’re going to roll in A’s. Understood?”

Kageyama arched his brows, eyes wide, and gave him a look that spoke a million words.

“I know, I’m aware of your lacking academic record, which is exactly why I’ll help you. We’ll tell the team you apologized and that we mutually agreed to help each other were we’re lacking so that we could get closer, or something. You’ll help me with practice, because there’s absolutely no way I’ll be able to set like you, and I’ll do my own homework with you. Understood?”

Kageyama nodded, spiritless.

Kei was already losing him, wasn’t he?

“And lastly, you’ll only do to me what’s absolutely necessary…” he mumbled, the heat in his neck slowly ascending to the tips of his ears.

Kageyama peaked at that, and his eyes glinted in that way they did whenever he thought something was interesting, or whenever he won a serve-ace.

Kei love-hated that look. Right then, however, he hated it more the more syllables he uttered. “Oh? Alright, then. Understood.” He smirked.

It was strange, to be attracted to someone who’s both you and isn’t at the same time. He wasn’t sure he understood how it worked—his attraction. The way in which his throat squeezed, and his cheeks warmed from that single smirk—the implication behind it—was enough to have his thoughts reeling.

Were his feelings for the idiot king, after all, more than surface level? Or was it Kageyama’s mannerisms and attitude he was attracted to?

Neither alternative sounded good, nor healthy. Where he stood, he had the choice of being attracted to Kageyama’s rude, aggressive and dense personality; or being genuinely attracted to…. Kageyama. The King of the Court. The worst team-player on the planet. The asshole who nearly broke his nose and sent him to the ER.

He decided to suppress those thought for when he was back in his own body and shoved them in the meantime to the back of his mind as he watched Kageyama exit.

══════════════════

Kageyama was dense in many aspects.

He was a hard-headed dictator, a massive idiot, and probably the most stubborn person on the planet. Right after Hinata. He was calculative-impulsive on court, a terrifying nature he’d mastered in ways beyond Kei’s comprehensive reach. Everything he did was one-track. It was like he was seeing the world through a tunnel, and the end of the tunnel only showed what was biologically relevant at the time. Whether it be the endorphins and adrenaline kick of volleyball, or the insistence of his hunger, everything Kageyama did he did because he had to. Straight on ahead, and nothing more. A simplicity which only the dumbest of people, the hollowest, could follow, Kei liked to argue.

It was precisely why they never worked together. They were simply on two different wavelengths. Kageyama was the snappy red, Kei was the wavy blue. They were each other’s polar opposites. Kei thought of Kageyama as nothing but a strong-willed moron, and Kageyama thought of Kei as nothing but a short-willed asshole.

It wasn’t that they lacked synchronization on court—Kageyama had made sure to fill that gap—but off court they avoided each other like the pest.

He didn’t understand him, truth be told, and it had been the reason to the beginning of their mutual detest for the other in the first place. 

Kageyama was, in no better words, dense.

Dense in every sense, as became clear to Kei in a bathroom stall.

He’d noticed Kageyama in many ways. He’d spent a lot of time staring at him, analyzing him, checking him out—you name it. But there was one place he never, ever, allowed his eyes to go.

And he was, at the very moment, staring right at it. It was, after all, harder to piss with your eyes closed, and Kei hadn’t thought of sitting as an appealing option once he’d eyed the piss-stains lining the toilet rim.

Which he was, now, regretting deeply, for the image of Kageyama’s dick would now forever remain fresh-printed in his mind. He almost cursed himself for not having stared earlier, for only now getting first-class view of it, for if he’d seen even just glimpses before he wouldn’t, maybe, be this shocked.

If he’d noticed before—allowed himself to imagine how it’d feel in his hand—he wouldn’t have to suffer like this. Now the image of Kageyama’s dick wouldn’t be fast glimpses and vague memories, but rather a very clear very lit-up, very high-resolution image.

For the first time in his life Kei wished he had poor vision.

But no, he didn’t. Kageyama had nearly perfect vision, and now Kei would never sleep again.

But that wasn’t the reason for his impromptu toilet-break. No, it’d been the sudden crush of his lungs, the buzz between his ears; the second he’d realized he’d lost his cognitive abilities.

It didn’t make much sense, he reasoned, for his speech hadn’t been impeded. He was still using the same, fancy vocabulary as before when he wasn’t pretending to be Kageyama. But was that because _Kei_ knew those words, or because Kageyama subconsciously did?

His journey to class had been, deceivingly, surprisingly uneventful.

Morning practice had been canceled, which meant he instead had an hour and a half to his disposal to learn what little there was to know about Kageyama’s academic situation.

He was told not to interact with anyone unless absolutely necessary, and that Kageyama spent most classes asleep on his desk or daydreaming. Predictable, infuriating, but easy enough, Kei foolishly thought at the time. Kageyama had no friends Kei had to worry about, aside from the ball of concentrated energy that was Hinata, and that, too, would not be a problem until afternoon practice.

True to his words, Kei had no problem getting to class. On the contrary, it was easier than usual.

As predicted, people didn’t talk to Kageyama because they were frightened of him. Understandable enough, he thought, as he could feel his natural expression tensing involuntarily. Sure, Kageyama’s frowns weren’t entirely intentional it seemed, but it didn’t translate to the crowd of people making room for him to pass through.

Kageyama was also, as mentioned, dense in every aspect, which also included weight. He was heavy. Surprisingly heavy.

Every step shook the lose hinges of doors as he passed, it felt like, for his footsteps bounced between the walls of the corridors in a rising rhythm the more he hastened his steps to escape the stares of the crowd.

Some were curious, some terrified, surprisingly many intrigued and enamored.

It was strange; living the life in the body of someone as unpopularly popular as Kageyama.

He’d gotten to class unscathed. Not a soul in sight to bother him.

However, the real problems came later, in class, when he teared up over a simple math equation. An equation Kei _knew_ for a fact that he’d learnt long ago for Kageyama’s worksheet was the one from a month ago.

Still, no matter how much he tried, the jumbled symbols on the page didn’t make sense. They were scattered and wobbly and danced across the blank pages as if they’d been blown to life by the huff of his labored breaths. Breaths which grew heavier and heavier as minutes passed.

It was like reading a text in a language similar to your own. It was familiar— _he knew_ he should be able to understand it—and yet something about it just didn’t work. Something felt wrong, out of place. Like he’d woken up in a reality eerily similar to his own, but where everything had been moved an inch to the right.

His vision blurred with unshed tears, and the clenched grip on the pencil was threatening to break it in half. Kei’s ears wandered to the creaking sound of the flimsy piece of wood slowly giving under the pressure, its time ticking in rhythm with the clock on the wall.

Each _tick, tick, tick_ was as excruciating as claws on a chalkboard, and the hitch in his breath had become so irritating that he had to swallow clumps of air one at a time. It was like the automatization of his lungs had ceased to work, and now Kei had to make a conscious effort to keep them working as they should. And he was failing at that, too.

And his legs, one of which bounced at twice the speed of the _tick, tick tick_ overhead, had lost all feeling. Instead they buzzed with prickles. Like a thousand fire ants had decided to ascend his thighs, but no matter how much he moved they wouldn’t go away.

They climbed and climbed and burrowed themselves deep into his flesh, and the moment a tear hit the blank sheet on his table he jerked, stood, and ignored the stares of startled classmates as he bolted for the door.

══════════════════

╔═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╗

_Are you dead?_

_Sometimes I think I'm dead_   
_‘Cause I can feel ghosts and ghouls wrapping my head,_   
_but I don't wanna fall asleep just yet._

_Get a load of this monster._   
_He doesn't know how to communicate._   
_His mind is in a different place._   
_Will everybody please give him a little bit of space?_

╚═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╝

══════════════════

And now, there he was. Standing still in the cubicle closest to the inner wall. Crying.

Kei could remember the last time he’d cried like this. Sure, he’d shed a tear or two when he’d thought no one was there to see, but he couldn’t remember the last time he cried so hard that the crying wasn’t even the main issue anymore. The crying which came and went in fluctuations so intense it felt like someone was fiddling with the switch controlling his emotions, bringing it up then down in an unpredictable rhythm.

His head pounded, his eyes felt puffy, and the hands burning under the hot stream of water were shaking so badly he nearly got Kageyama’s uniform wet.

What the hell was this? Was this Kei, or was this Kageyama? And if it was Kageyama, should he do something about it? Was it something that happened regularly? Had he told anyone about it?

Him sucking in class wasn’t exactly a shocker, logically. Surely, if he inhabited Kageyama’s body his brain was handling most functions of it, right. And, as he already knew, Kageyama wasn’t exactly the world’s brightest.

So, why? What had prompted it? Repressed emotions from having switched? Stress? What had happened this morning? Worries? Or was it something else? Something entirely foreign to Kei?

He dried his boiled hands; the skin red and angry and baby-soft to the touch and took a few steadying breaths before exiting the stall.

As luck would have it, the first thing he laid eyes upon when he exited was the wide-eyed stare of none other than Hinata Shoyou.

Hinata, whom he’d expected to meet _after_ school.

“Kageyama?” he said, but his voice lacked the usual tease it held.

His right hand was stretched out as if he’d been about to knock, and the other held a wad of paper tightly in a small fist. His uniform lay askew on slim shoulders, and Kei noted the wet patch of some sort of liquid on his chest.

Kei tried his best to school his expression and to channel what little he knew of Kageyama’s personality. He had no idea what to expect out of this private, unseen moment with someone who was supposedly Kageyama’s only friend.

“Yeah?” He settled for.

“Have you been crying?” Hinata asked, and his posture slumped in tandem with the soft furrow of his brows. Genuine worry practically oozed out of his every pore, and Kei got the sudden impression that this was something Hinata had seen before. What’s worse, it wasn’t a good thing it was happening again, it seemed.

He tried for a scoff, “What? No. What do you want? I have to get to class.”

He moved to pass, but Hinata used the moment to hurtle right into his stomach and shove him into the stall. Kei coughed and cursed and startled when the stall-door banged shut.

“What the hell is wrong with y—”

“Why didn’t you tell me it was getting worse?” Hinata asked.

The frown had deepened, and the wobble in his lip told Kei a dam was about to break.

“What do you mean? There’s nothing to tell!” he tried, hoping it would save whatever was happening because it didn’t bode well for Kageyama’s relationship with Hinata.

Day one and Kei was already failing at being Kageyama.

“I thought you’d promised you’d tell me if you felt it coming on! Jeez, Tobio-kun!”

Kei didn’t have the time to react to the first-name basis, or the high-pitched way in which Hinata’s voice broke, before he was enveloped in a bone crushing hug. Skinny arms wrapped around his middle so hard Kei feared Kageyama’s ribs would give under the pressure. A pink, cold nose nuzzled into his chest. He could feel the firm tip through his uniform and cursed himself for having gotten into this situation in the first place.

By the minute he was learning thing upon new thing he’d never imagined about Kageyama.

How great it would be to break that news to the man in question, he thought, as he gingerly wrapped his arms around a Hinata spewing comfort and inspirational speeches to the unsteady rise of his chest. His voice bled out into something discernable until, eventually, they were wrapped in comfortable silence.

On his first day he’d learned that Kageyama suffered panic attacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized writing this that it's really hard to decribe a panic attack without using the word panic of attack.


	4. Best Fucking Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man am I bad at not making things ULTRA SLOW BURN
> 
> Why am I unable to just write a short, angsty fic about two confused, mean teenage boys??? Why do I have to drag it out for 30+ chapters and give them super intricate justifications that require super intricate explanations and flashbacks and whatnot?
> 
> Check out the playlist for this fic here:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6buzLYO9fMX1DsfKlYT5EV?si=yxC907qPSSiiniWfxCaagg
> 
> (All song quotes)

A fly had found its way inside and was insistently humming by his ear. It definitely wouldn’t cure the throbbing headache he’d been sporting since that morning. Possibly caused, in the first place, by an incredibly well aimed fist by Kageyama himself.

The irony of having to sit out the consequences of it while Tsukishima skipped around in his well-earned athleticism certainly didn’t fly by him. Quietly he allowed himself the insignificant, and quite shallow joy of knowing he could probably beat the life out of Tsukishima if they ever fought for real. That right hook had dealt a greater blow than he’d intended it to, which meant it was only that much worse that he swung it in the first place, but if he would have to be the one to sit it out he could at least preen at the velocity and strength of it.

He’d tried to remain focused in Tsukishima’s class, really had, but he caught himself instead dully staring out the window at the track field outside and the handful of particularly rebellious students milling around it. Probably smoking on school ground, too.

Tobio had never been one to care about other people. He usually passed crowds without so much as sparing a single glance at the people walking by, and wasn’t exactly considered particularly good at remembering names. In other words, he sucked at it.

Gun to his head, Tobio couldn’t tell one person from the next if they even looked just a little similar, and remembering names of things, places and people that wouldn’t have an impact on his life was so beyond him that it simply didn’t coexist in the same sphere as Tobio.

Anger, however, anger had a funny way of helping him remember. Anger was an emotion he was familiar with. Anger was an emotion he could taste, and hear, and—harrowingly enough—feel.

It was the prickling heat in his throat and chest, and the constriction of his lungs. It was the way his hands would clench and shake, and his every particle beg to tear something apart—to rip someone to shreds.

He’d never been good at handling his anger. That much was clear. But when it came to physical confrontation Tobio liked to think of himself as rather tame. He was loud and aggressive, sure. Bossy, maybe. But he wasn’t violent. He’d never been considered violent, nor considered himself as such. All bark no bite people liked to say, but he’d proven them wrong.

He’d proven them wrong the day he flung Hinata across the court, and only further cemented that assumption the day he hit Tsukishima so hard he nearly passed out.

══════════════════

_He was clutching his chest. Why was he clutching his chest again? Right, the punch. Had he thrown another one?_

_Sugawara bent before Tsukishima and pushed blonde, sweaty bangs out of his eyes. Pleaded for him to stay focused on his voice and face. Reassured him that everything was alright. Asked if he thought anything was broken._

_The thought of something being broken made Tobio’s stomach churn and twist so harshly he thought for a second he’d be the one sitting shotgun on a ride to the hospital._

_Hospital?_

_Yachi was already fiddling with the buttons on his phone, talking about calling an ambulance, but Tsukishima’s strained voice cut in. Told him not to, that there was no need._

_That he’d be fine._

_Tobio, he could feel their eyes on him. Now that they knew Tsukishima was alright enough to speak and even ask not to be driven to the ER their eyes turned to Tobio’s trembling, clenched fists. They were staring at him, glaring. Watching the way his body betrayed his thoughts. The way it shamefully flaunted every ounce of his emotions and their after-spill. His traitorous shoulders wouldn’t fall into submission, and the crease between his brows told him his face hadn’t given up the fight either. Sugawara was probably disappointed; Yamaguchi was surely contemplating whether Tobio even deserved to stay on the team. He knew coach was sat by Tsukishima, rubbing his back and hoisting him up on his feet; Tobio could see them move away in his peripheral. Yamaguchi followed with his head hung low and his shoulders hunched, hands unsteadily shifting moment by moment as they held up Tsukishima’s staggering body._

_He knew they hated him. There was no doubt about that. If they hadn’t before, now they surely did. This had been his last chance, and he’d thrown it out the window._

_A trembling fist still tightly clenched rose to his chest so he could examine the damage done. He was bruising already, and the spaces between his knuckles had cracked and were bleeding. It mixed and blended with Tsukishima’s already drying blood. It had run down between his fingers, and when Tobio opened a shaky palm he watched it collect in the creases of his lifeline._

_His vision blurred when two small, pale hands wrapped around his right. Hinata._

_God, Hinata._

_He hated him now, surely. That was the moment he’d finally deal the final blow. That was the moment he’d out Tobio’s desperate need for his presence, his warmth, and simultaneously crush every hope in Tobio’s chest for them to ever remain life-long friends. Of ever being able to have someone stay by his side._

_All he ever wanted was for someone to stay and now he’d ruined it. He’d ruined it, he’d—_

_“Kageyama-kun?”_

_Hinata’s voice was soft—higher than normal—and it sounded eerily like the voice he used when he talked to Hime, Tobio’s cat. The only creature, aside from Hinata, who tolerated him. A stray he’d found his second year at Karasuno one rainy afternoon._

_“Are you OK, Kageyama?” He asked, and Tobio watched as calloused little fingers changed their grip on his hands so that Tobio couldn’t see the blood in the creases anymore._

_“It’s OK Tobio,” he whispered, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. No matter what.”_

_Tobio desperately wanted that to be true._

══════════════════

The knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to apologize properly now weighed on him so suddenly he couldn’t sit straight anymore. He slouched miserably in his chair and his breath, heavy and thick, left him in a long, burning flame of shame. It wasn’t like he could force Tsukishima to do it; that’d be cowardly and quite honestly incredibly disrespectful to Tsukishima.

No, Tobio had to own up to his mistake himself. Face to faces.

Something he couldn’t do now.

But his downward spiral was interrupted the second he caught sight of a lonesome figure getting dragged across the courtyard by a very, very angry Hinata.

══════════════════

Hinata’s hand was small, so small, in Kageyama’s. It was surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, calloused beyond his years. Kei thought it almost endearing, the way his passion spilled out from the seams in his skin. In everything he did, Hinata gave it his all and some. He was Kei’s polar opposite—and judging by the stares they received as he was pulled along to God-knows-where by the fuming ball of energy—as were Kageyama and Hinata. Polar opposites, but each other’s carbon copies, too.

He stopped just outside the school gates, on the northern side closest to the gym where practice was held. By the rusted, old gate he stopped just out of public eye’s reach and pivoted towards Kei.

“Is this about Shittyshima?” He asked, voice a gravelly mess of emotions. “If this is about you hitting him, I honestly think it was only a matter of time before you swung at him. Guy’s an asshole, we all know it.”

He wasn’t sure what the right reply here was. Making something up had seemed to be his best bet earlier, when they were still in the restroom, but out here by the gates Hinata didn’t seem as clueless as he acted anymore. Outside the rusty gates of Karasuno Hinata bore with him an intensity that of liquid heat, and the sudden eruption hadn’t even been the biggest shocker.

Hinata genuinely cared about Kageyama. A lot. 

A fist-sized stone dropped somewhere deep in Kei’s abdomen at the thought, and he wasn’t even sure why.

“No,” he scoffed, then panicked as he remembered he wasn’t himself right now.

_How did Kageyama speak again?_

“Just tired, is all. Guess I didn’t sleep well last night. The stress must have gotten to me. That’s all.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Kei didn’t have a better explanation for what had just happened other than an overload of emotions caused by the very sudden relocation of the root that made up his consciousness. 

Hinata scoffed. “Stress? Are you kidding me? Why are you trying to brush this off? I thought we were over this crap!”

He was shaking, visibly. The thin skin around his eyes quivered with the effort to keep everything controlled. To prevent another tear from ripping apart their bond. 

══════════════════

Kei had been painfully there when the infamous duo fought back in their freshman year. Not in the physical sense, but in every other sense. 

He’d been painfully aware of the gaping, open wound in the power-tower of Karasuno. The inseparable had separated, after all. At first, he’d been glad. It meant less yelling, less Hinata bouncing all around Kageyama—making him smile those gooey smiles that were only reserved for the annoying little orange. The ones that stabbed right through Tsukishima’s kidney every single time he glimpsed them. The ones he quietly, so quietly, longed for. 

So quietly, in fact, not even he could hear it. Not until the end of their second year when he finally admitted to himself what had landed and festered deep in the crevices of his heart.

But the lack of yelling accompanied a quieter Kageyama. He rarely spoke as was, and now the last of his flimsy flame had been snuffed out; killed. 

It pained more than it should have to watch him haunt the area around the Karasuno gym, looking for a quiet place to eat his lunch.

Alone. 

It hurt more than it should to watch him long with every fiber of his being for a gremlin who couldn’t appreciate him enough to...

══════════════════

It wasn’t like Kei to fall into depressive moods like that. It was definitely not like him to let his mind spiral in such ways.

Whatever was happening to him had to be caused by Kageyama’s body. Perhaps Hinata could give him some intel on what the hell was going on. All he had to do was push the right buttons, and pushing buttons was something Kei was particularly good at.

“I’m sorry, Hinata, I don’t know what’s up with me lately.” 

He prayed silently that it wouldn’t fall too out of character for Kageyama, and that Hinata and him were perhaps even close enough so that Hinata knew of a different, foreign side of Kageyama. A side that perhaps opened up about his insecurities and his bad days. As much as it stung to even think that it was the painful truth, it seemed, for Hinata’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“I think you do know, Tobio,” he said and reached for his hand.

Kei watched the movement; the natural and effortless way Hinata initiated such intimate contact with Kageyama. As if holding your rival’s hand and calling them by their first name was the most platonic, most natural thing there was.

“I’m—”

“You had a panic attack, Tobio. You know that. You don’t need me to tell you that. When will you learn to just… accept yourself?” Hinata went on. “It looks like you for some reason can’t tell me why, but either way I want you to know that _if_ this is about Tsukishima you know you have me on your side.”

Judging by Hinata’s genuine worry, panic attacks were a common occurrence in the mind of Kageyama. Kei wasn’t sure how or when that would really settle with him, because right then and there all he could think about was the way in which Hinata’s eyes watered and his cheeks flushed more with every word he uttered.

“And, yeah, maybe that was taking it too far, but I know you! I know you’ll beat yourself up over it and I know you’ll never forgive yourself, but you know what? Some people deserve a punch to the face.” He smiled, then, bright and wide up at Kei, and grabbed Kageyama’s other hand.

He squeezed them both once before letting go and hastily brushing away his tears. “B-but you’re still a jerk you know! So don’t get full of yourself!”

Kei smiled, despite it all, because it felt like the right thing to do. Because it felt like something Kageyama would do in that moment, even if Kei had only seen him smile a handful of times.

And he was right, because Hinata smiled back.

══════════════════

╔═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╗

_There was a time you told me secrets, but you were scared I wouldn't keep them.  
Oh, but nobody knows._

_We have come so far.  
We can't turn back now.  
Let me walk you down this road._

_  
Follow me when it's dark out.  
I will be your lighthouse._  
  


╚═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╝

══════════════════

Whatever Tsukishima had said to instill that reaction in Hinata couldn’t be good.

His immediate reaction had been to run out of the classroom and go look for them, but halfway down the empty school hallway he realized that, perhaps, that hadn’t been as wise a decision as he’d originally thought. Not only was he skipping class—as Tsukishima, someone who was currently among the top students in his grade—but he also had not a single clue what he would say when he caught up with them.

He couldn’t just interrupt, not as Tsukishima of all people. Tsukishima would be the last person to actively skip class in order to interrupt Hinata and Tobio’s fight.

If it was a fight in the first place. Chances were he’d ran out on impulse based on nothing but a misunderstanding on his part.

So now what? He couldn’t just go back, that’d seem weird. He had to make up an excuse for the teacher later. Right then, however, he settled on looking for the infirmary. If he told them he felt sick they’d let him rest in the infirmary for a while, and perhaps even contact his teacher.

His plan was foolproof, except he hadn’t accounted for Yamaguchi to be sitting on one of the empty beds in the infirmary.

They both stopped and stared when their eyes met. Tobio stiff in the doorway, completely caught off guard, and Yamaguchi with his hand hovering over his scraped-up knee.

He cleared his throat. “What happened?” he said, minding the pitch and tone of his voice. The fewer emotions it held the better. His attempt seemed to land well.

“I, uh, fell down the stairs while delivering a stack of documents to my homeroom teacher…” Yamaguchi cringed visibly and scratched the back of his neck. “Pretty uncool,” he said and choked out an embarrassed little laugh.

══════════════════

Tobio knew Yamaguchi had… a thing… for Tsukishima. It had never bothered him, truth be told. He had enough on his plate as was. Last thing he needed was to care more about Yamaguchi than he absolutely had to. With his shy, quiet presence behind Tsukishima he seemed more like a shadow than a person most of the time, and that was coming from the guy with “shadow” in his goddamn name.

So, in truth, he had never cared much about Yamaguchi. Until he’d caught them arguing once a few weeks before the switch. It sounded like a confession gone wrong, judging by the sob in Yamaguchi’s voice and the tears that flooded his cheeks. They hadn’t seen Tobio, standing in the entrance of the gym. He’d forgotten his kneepads and had gone back to get them, not expecting Tsukishima and his lapdog to be engaged in a lover’s quarrel.

The scene had thrown him off entirely. He’d never considered Yamaguchi a threat. Never. Why now? Why was he suddenly a bother?

Tobio knew he wasn’t harboring feelings for Tsukishima he didn’t already know about. He knew he liked the jerk. Not so much that he’d call it love, or even a crush, but it was surely getting there. He could feel it.

Still, he knew he wasn’t one to let his affections sway his actions. He never let on that he liked someone, and in turn him liking someone never made him feel lonely or depressed. It was how it was. He wouldn’t and couldn’t change it, so why care? Why let it consume his every thought and emotion?

It seemed stupid to him, which was exactly why his reaction to finding out about Yamaguchi’s infatuation with Tsukishima was so hard to digest.

══════════════════

“Tsukki?”

“Huh?”

“Are you OK? I asked why you’re in the infirmary?”

His eyebrows were furrowed, shading hazel eyes from the sun out the window.

“I’m fine,” he said, “Headache.” He made a lazy gesture towards his bruised face with his right hand and hoped it would be enough of a message to Yamaguchi. 

He took a seat on the bed closest to Yamaguchi, and after a moment slumped down to lie on the fluffy, clinical pillow. A stifling silence settled in the crack between them, and Tobio panicked where he lay in the infirmary bed.

══════════════════

He didn’t have the slightest clue as to what had really gone down that day. All he knew was that Yamaguchi had confessed, and that the weeks following that his relationship with Tsukishima had seemed strained. They didn’t chat as freely, and whenever Yamaguchi tried to initiate contact Tsukishima would shy away from him. It was subtle, like the way he scooted just a little bit further from him on the bench, or the way he placed his water bottle further away from Yamaguchi than he used to.

It was all so glaringly obvious, and yet Tobio didn’t have the slightest clue as to what exactly it was all about. What exactly Tsukishima was feeling.

He assumed it wasn’t homophobia. Tsukishima had, after all, jerk off to Tobio. That he knew for a fact. If homophobia was the case, it must have been internalized beyond fathomability. But knowing Tsukishima, and his general disinterest in everything, Tobio simply couldn’t picture him as someone who cared about what others thought about him or whom he liked or didn’t like.

Therefore, Tobio was lest with few options on what exactly the problem was. The only explanation he deemed reasonable was that Tsukishima had simply deemed it strange or uncomfortable that his own best friend of all people harbored such feelings for him.

══════════════════

The silence in the room stretched on as Tobio quietly contemplated the reason for their awkwardness. Was it the Tobio in Tsukishima that was making this more awkward, or was it the drift between them that was behind all of it?

Tobio watched another fly as it hit the thin window over and over. It made a tiny little sound every time, like a cut off buzz followed by a very quiet bump.

The sun outside sunk further down the sky, and the strong sunrays were now shining right into his eyes. He closed them against the flare and let himself feel the warmth of spring on his skin instead.

Then, Yamaguchi finally broke the silence.

“Is this just how things are gonna be from now on?”

Tobio breathed in slow through his nose.

“What exactly are you talking about?” Tobio asked.

He listened to the sound of the bed creaking as Yamaguchi moved. Tobio cracked open his eyes to look at him. He’d turned towards Tobio, hands in his lap, and was staring down at his shoes.

“About us,” he whispered.

Tobio caught the little quiver in his voice. It was the same quiver Hinata got whenever his emotions threatened to overflow. _That_ was something he knew how to handle; had learnt to handle, but the question was whether Tsukishima knew how to handle Yamaguchi’s emotions.

He settled for yes.

“We’ll be fine,” he said, then thought about the things he’d noticed the past few weeks, “It’ll just take some time to digest, that’s all.”

When Yamaguchi didn’t react with confusion, Tobio considered it a good guess. Something had been confessed after all. Something big. Something which threatened to tear their relationship to shreds. Least thing Tobio could do was to try and mend it, right?

He hoped this was the right thing to do.

Yamaguchi pulled at the hem of his shirt, “I’m sorry, for calling you an idiot,” he said, “It was just my emotions talking. I do think he’s a good guy when he wants to be, and I bet he’d make you happy.”

His pulse spiked in his chest. _Tsukishima had someone he… liked? Someone he wished to date, at least._

Tobio cleared his throat as inconspicuously as he could, given the whiplash he’d just experienced, “Right,” he said, “Now shut up. It’s over,”

Yamaguchi laughed, naturally for once, and left Tobio to cradle the grenade he’d just dropped in his hands.

There were so many things he had to ask Tsukishima.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed.  
> This is basically entirely unedited so forgive me if there's a super cringe worthy mistake somewhere up there.
> 
> EDIT: Fixed the typos. Also removed Daichi and changed a few of the characters because I forgot this was set in their third year for like half a paragraph... yeah...


	5. A Piece of Me You Should Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the pleylist for this fic:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6buzLYO9fMX1DsfKlYT5EV?si=4WCKOz7STimhJ6tgp9nrnw
> 
> Follow me on Twitter:  
> @MONANIK2
> 
> Enjoy! xoxo

”We need to talk.”

They were standing outside the equipment shed by the track-field. The air outside had started chilling hastily, now rigid and icy, and the leaves atop the trees around them were drenched in warm hues—a contrast to the dropping temperatures.

“About what?” he asked, knowing full well what Kei was insinuating but refusing to cooperate. He wasn’t ready to tell him yet. Not him. He knew that, but he liked to think the situation as it was required him to tell him.

Kei scoffed, loudly, and swung his head around in disbelief. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. Are you seriously gonna be this difficult all the time? Do I have to drag it out of you?” He reached out and grabbed a hold of Kageyama’s uniform. “Don’t make me do that. You and I both know damn well that we won’t survive this if we don’t cooperate, king.”

“Rich coming from you,” he growled and yanked away Kei’s hand harshly. “We’re not exactly known for it,” he said.

Kei took a step forward. “Kageyama. I have to know what’s going on at your place. I need to know what I’m getting myself into. And Hinata? Have you ever met a more perceptive idiot in your life? It’s only a matter of time before he figures something out and God knows whatever it’ll be it’ll be the wrong picture.”

Kageyama averted his gaze and let it fall instead on one of the rakes left leaning against the shed door.

“You risk losing him,” Kei said, voice nothing but a strained hum.

Kageyama looked into his eyes.

“You wanna know so bad?” he said, anger lacing his every syllable. “Alright, I’ll tell you. When you enter my house today, don’t look at him. Don’t talk to _her._ Don’t say _anything._ No ‘I’m home’, and definitely nothing else that might spur conversation. Go up the stairs and—if the door’s still there—lock yourself in my room and don’t leave for the rest of the day. Don’t answer if they knock, don’t go looking for food in the fridge, don’t make any unnecessary noise. If you need to take a piss do it fast. Do. Not. Interact.”

He punctuated every point by numbering it on his hand, one finger at a time until all ten were in the air and Kageyama’s nose was so close to Kei’s their interaction might have been mistaken for a heated make-out session.

He looked at him— _really looked at him—_ and saw absolutely nothing in his eyes. Maybe because they were Kei’s, and Kei knew none of what Kageyama was saying, or maybe because this was something so every-day to Kageyama that he’d simply repressed the emotions that came with it, the unfairness gnawing at him over it.

 _Kei_ sure felt it—the unfairness. The rage. The _audacity_ of two people to make this of their child.

He didn’t say that, though.

They shared a moment like that, enveloped in the autumn air and the sound of the baseball team practicing in the distance. Shouting, talking students milling about the school grounds. Some were going home, some to club.

The sun had already started setting.

“And Hinata?” he finally asked.

“What about him?”

“How close are you two?” He choked the jealousy bubbling to the surface as best he could. “Today he… grabbed my hands…”

“Are you asking if we’re fucking or?”

Seeing Kageyama’s signature _I-just-asked-something-very-bluntly-and-am-treating-you-as-an-idiot_ expression on Kei almost had him tripping. God how he hated that, that stupid raised brow and the way those lips morphed into the strangest pout he’d ever seen.

“Do you have not an ounce of decency in your body?” he asked in lieu of answering, face a raging furnace that he stubbornly ignored.

“Thought you wanted me to be straight up?”

“So you are, is that what you’re saying? Is that like the secret behind that otherworldly coordinating of yours?” he asked.

Something awoke abruptly in the pit of his gut and squirmed uncomfortably as it grew and grew and, quickly, stood on its hindlegs, ready to attack. How he hated the idea of it. Of Kageyama and Hinata. He’d been suspecting it, but he didn’t think it’d ever gotten that far. To him, it had seemed one sided at most and completely vanilla at worst. Not… this. Whatever it was.

“No, you dumbass,” Kageyama growled, signature frown right back where it belonged.

Kei immediately deflated, and the thing in his gut disappeared.

“Are you insane? We’re just friends. _Just_ friends.”

“And you never wanted to be anything more than that?”

“Sorry? I don’t see how that’s relevant to you?” he bit.

Kei frowned. “I mean, it would be nice to know how I should act around him, your highness. Or is giving such information above you?”

Kageyama sighed and slumped his shoulders before looking up at the darkening sky—breathing deeply.

“Just don’t be unnecessarily mean to him. There’s no manual I can give you. You’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

Kei could get behind that. He understood that, really. There was nothing Kageyama could tell him that would magically make him act correctly around Hinata. Out of the billion things Hinata could say, at least half of Kei’s replies to them would inevitably end up being wrong. Still, he wanted to know…

“He said something about you having panic attacks. I think I had one, too. Earlier. I usually don’t.”

Kageyama looked back down at him. His eyes held no emotion and for a moment didn’t move from their position, staring right into Kei and, perhaps even through him. It made him shiver, but just as soon the moment was broken and Kageyama sighed again as he looked right over Kei’s shoulder.

“It’s a thing I have… I was never properly diagnosed I guess,” his gaze fell to their feet, “—had no money for that, but after…” he trailed off and seemed to change his mind as he spoke again, shaking his head, “That’s irrelevant,” he said. Voice strained like it’d been to himself rather than Kei. “I have panic attack sometimes. I don’t like calling them that. Feels weird. Anyways, if it happens again try doing some breathing exercises or finding a quiet place.”

Kei didn’t know what to say to that, so he nodded dumbly instead and let the noise of the school envelop them again. Like a protective barrier.

He cleared his throat, “I guess it’s only fair that I tell you about me and Yamaguchi, then,” he said, changing the topic.

Kageyama perked up at that. “I met him earlier at the infirmary.”

“The infirmary? Why were you there? Was he hurt?”

“I ran out of the classroom when I saw you getting dragged by Hinata but realized halfway down the hallway that it was probably a bad idea, so I went to the infirmary instead. He’d hurt his knee.”

Kei bristled. “You ran out of my class?! I told you you need to stay focused! Unlike you I actually care about my schoolwork and reputation!”

Kageyama flinched. Something flickered over his expression and his right shoulder twitched the smallest bit. It scared him, but he wouldn’t admit it. This duality in Kageyama that he’d only recently discovered. It reminded him of something he couldn’t name, but whatever it was it scared him.

Kageyama’s voice dripped past his lips like ice, “I met him,” he said, putting emphasis on every word, “And I told him that—whatever it was that was going on between you—was over. You don’t need to tell me anything.”

He could tell he’d crossed a line somewhere by the tension in Kageyama’s—or, er, Kei’s—shoulders. Knew he should have just let it pass, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let the idiot do whatever he pleased. Not in his body, in his _life._

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his uniform. “Today, when you come home to my place, don’t talk to my family members. I never do. But do announce that you’re home and greet them if they greet you. If Akiteru says anything, or tries to lure you into something, ignore him.”

It almost physically hurt to utter those instructions to Kageyama of all people, especially after what he’d heard earlier. He felt spoiled, suddenly, because unlike Kageyama he didn’t have a valid reason to ignore his parents. He just did.”

“Ok,” Kageyama said, and walked away.

══════════════════

╔═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╗

_And this I come home to; this is my shelter._   
_It ain't easy growing up in World War III, never knowing what love could be._   
_You see, I don't want love to destroy me like it has done my family._

_Can we work it out? Can we be a family? I promise I'll be better; mommy I'll do anything._

╚═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╝  
  


══════════════════

Practice that day went about as well as they thought it would. Tsukishima’s sets were nowhere near Tobio’s level of accuracy, which earned him a whole shit ton of attention and an early leave on the basis of him clearly _“not feeling well”._ He at least had the heart to mourn whatever Tsukishima was about to live out at his house for a fraction of a second before the anger from earlier resurfaced and hit full force.

Hinata, of all, was the one who noticed something else was at stake, and Tobio feared it had something to do with Tobio’s… issues…

He knew he should have told Tsukishima everything. About him and Shoyou. About their deepening relationship. About the time Hinata had walked into his house at just the right time. About the time he’d accompanied him to the psychologist.

But he couldn’t. Part of him wanted to keep that to himself, to hold that memory close to his chest and never let it go. It was the most vulnerable part of him, and he wasn’t ready to let it go.

No, he wasn’t ready to even revisit it.

Walking home from practice that day, with only a handful of strange glances thrown his way from his teammates (he couldn’t help liking what he liked, after all, and his emotions he tended to wear on his sleeve), for the first time in years he allowed himself to enjoy his walk home.

All previous nerves of meeting Tsukishima’s family had seemingly vanished in a huff of breath, as if they’d never exited in the first place, and for the first time in forever he felt at ease. Calm.

Okay.

There was no turmoil going around in his brain, no anxiety over what was to come once he stepped through his door. No worries of having things thrown at him or running up the stairs to hide in his room. None of that.

It was just him, the road and the crispy evening.

The darkening violet hues of the sky overhead, and the way his breath came out in a cloud of white and tickled his nose, was a serenity he hadn’t felt in so long. His mind was quiet. For once, it was quiet, and he wondered for a moment if that was how he’d felt before it all started. If that was how normal people normally thought, normally felt.

And could _he_ ever feel that way again?

Probably not. Not without proper help, and proper help he couldn’t get so easily when every second spent at home was crucial. If he dared step outside those limitations, to do whatever it was he wanted to do, without her knowing, the consequences were, often, disastrous.

So, he avoided it like the plague, because at the rate he was going, investing himself any further mentally into more fights would, without a doubt, cost him his life.

Like that, lost in his thoughts, he reached the Tsukishima household and nearly walked right past. The lights were on inside, bathing the street outside in its golden glow, and it all seemed so… warm.

Welcoming.

He had walked up to the front door, and had been about to ring the doorbell, when he remembered he had Tsukishima’s home key. Steeling his nerves, he re-arranged his facial features into ones of boredom, and walked inside announcing his arrival half-heartedly and in true Tsukishima fashion, as instructed.

He knew what Tsukishima had told him had been important. He had to stay out of his business and control himself. This wasn’t his life. But when Akiteru’s head popped out of the doorway to the living-room he couldn’t help but sigh in longing.

“You’re late. Was practice extra fun today or something?” Akiteru asked.

Tobio willed his lips to stop quivering. He put on a nonchalant façade as best he could. “Third years kept us for longer. It was about the upcoming away-games.” He stood and adjusted his glasses, not knowing how to act. His previous nerves were all bubbling back up to the surface—fizzing beneath his skin.

“Welcome home, Kei!” a female voice called from the kitchen, whom Tobio assumed to be Mrs. Tsukishima. He called back in kind, careful to keep his voice void of any emotions.

It didn’t land well, judging by Akiteru’s raised brows. He could only do so much. Tobio couldn’t remember his mother ever greeting him like that.

“ _Someone’s_ in a good mood,” Akiteru stated, not exactly posing it as a question. Just making an observation.

Tobio had been about to leave, to turn and walk up the stairs and do as told, when Akiteru motioned for him to wait only to return to him with two cokes in hand and a bag of chips.

“Wanna watch the latest episode with me? I know you hate the show, but it _is_ funny to make fun of the shitty acting, don’t you agree?”

He should have said no. He knew that. But what he said instead was:

“Sure…”

And that was how he found himself nuzzled close to Akiteru on the living-room couch, watching a shitty rom-com show about a girl who was stuck choosing between two identical looking guys, distraught by problems such as her best friend having kissed one of said boys.

It was, as it turns out, fun to bully the shitty actors, and junk food was something so foreign to Tobio who enjoyed every second of it. Eventually, halfway through their fourth episode, Tsukishima’s mother walked into the living room holding two plates of food for them, clearly caught of guard by the brotherly behavior of whom they assumed was Tsukishima.

She didn’t comment on it, just handed them the plates and told them not to stay up long, but they did. They watched another three episodes before Tobio started feeling himself doze off, and eventually fall asleep on Akiteru’s shoulders. Feeling more content than he had in years.

Finally, truly, happy outside of volleyball.

How he wished he could stay that way for forever.

══════════════════

The Kageyama household was as quiet as the dead. A single light was on inside; blue and flickering, indicating that it came from a TV, most likely. Other than that, it was quiet. A looming shadow against the backdrop of a violet-skied Miyagi one chilly evening.

He hadn’t gotten an opportunity to really check out the residence that morning, as panicked as he’d been, but now, stepping through the gate and walking up the path leading to his house, Tsukishima could see that this was no cheap residence. It was a luxurious residence. By no means a mansion, but clearly a western-style building, built to look sleek and modern and expensive but lacking the bulk most _really_ expensive places held.

He gingerly reached out the hand clasping Kageyama’s keys, and as quietly as he could turned the lock to step inside.

The inside was dark, doused in darkness, except for the flickering light coming from the living-room down the corridor in front of him. Loud snoring could be heard coming from it, echoing down the hallway. There were no shoes on the floor by the entrance, all of them stacked neatly by each other on the shoe holder by the door, and likewise there were only three coats hanging on the hooks above.

As instructed by Kageyama he didn’t call out, but rather undressed in deafening silence, feeling watched all the while, and turned to walk up the stairs only to jump right out of his skin.

By the foot of the stairs stood a woman, dressed in a sleek, blue dress and with long, inky-black hair that fell past her waist. She was ethereal in her beauty—effortlessly perfect in the way commercials made women seem—and her slim, pale hands were clasped in front of her.

She was staring right at Kei, brown eyes staring daggers right through him.

“Where have you been?” she asked, voice hushed and raspy.

“S-school,” he stuttered, trying to compose himself.

“Why do you make more work for me all the time? I asked you for _one_ thing, Tobio. _One_ thing, and you couldn’t even do that. You’re killing me, Tobio, you know that?”

Her brows were furrowed so harshly Kei could count the individual creases it left even in the darkness of the hallway. Something about her accusations rang wrong in his ears. Kageyama was many things but he wasn’t disloyal or—God forbid—lazy. He certainly didn’t lack a respect for his elders, that much he knew. Why, then, would Kageyama ever want to actively disappoint his mother or go against her wishes and commands? It didn’t make any sense.

The woman continued, “Are you doing this on purpose? Is this the punishment I receive for having given you everything there is to give? Where did I go wrong with you?”

Kei tried wracking his head for a reply but came up empty handed. What was the etiquette here? He couldn’t just shove past her, that’d cause more issues he was sure, and he couldn’t just ignore her. He had to say something, anything to protect Kageyama’s dignity.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, then chanced with, “Aren’t I always doing everything you want me to?”

Mrs. Kageyama’s expression fell further, and Kei could see in the darkness the way it morphed into something ugly. A grimace, perhaps. Like the _oni_ masks he’d seen at festivals.

“Everything I want? Is that what you call this? So it’s my fault we have to buy you a new door? Is that it? Are you putting this one on me now?”

Kei was already getting tired, worn to the bone and quite frankly over being Kageyama.

“No, that’s obviously not—”

“Go to your room. I don’t want to see your face; do you hear me? Now.”

She moved aside enough so he could pass but not enough so he could pass comfortably. Like that he’d either had to shove her or squeeze his way past, and as he did, he felt every ounce of humiliation wash over him.

To be treated like that.

Was this Kageyama’s daily?

“And don’t you dare come down for food you ungrateful pig,” he spat behind him, voice like nails on chalkboard along his spine.

Despite his growling stomach, he knew he would obey, and that was, perhaps, most daunting and humiliating of it all.

He would obey, even without Kageyama’s directives.

══════════════════

╔═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╗

_Mom will be nicer, I'll be so much better, I'll tell my brother…_   
_Oh, I won't spill the milk at dinner._   
_I'll be so much better, I'll do everything right, I'll be your little boy forever…_   
_I'll go to sleep at night._

╚═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooh! This one was a REAL BUMMER to write, I'll tell you that.
> 
> Has anyone figured out what Kageyama is suffering from?
> 
> Cheers to another chapter and stan Tsukishima Akiteru!   
> xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> You can pry submissive Kei out of my cold, dead hands. There's no way that stoic asshole isn't putting up a front.


End file.
